Chapter 59: Owl Post
Sean understood the necessity of the broomstick requirement. On the Quidditch pitch, a broom wasn't just equipment; it was a wizard's partner. An old, unreliable broomstick was not only a hindrance but potentially dangerous for a novice flyer.
The handcrafted nature of broomsticks meant a vast difference between the cheapest and the best. Expensive models like the Nimbus 2000 incorporated not just superior materials but also patented Braking Charms for quick stops and intricate alchemical enchantments allowing for sharp, 360-degree turns. If Sean attempted such maneuvers on the battered school broom he'd been using, it would likely disintegrate mid-air – a fact explicitly stated in the Comet Trading Company's instruction manual: [As you can see, this is a training broom. For thirty Galleons, what more could you possibly expect?] Sean had to agree with the pragmatic assessment of company founders Randolph Keitch and Basil Horton.
For most students, acquiring a Nimbus 1500 wouldn't be an insurmountable obstacle. The price wasn't exorbitant, and Quality Quidditch Supplies offered owl-order delivery to Hogwarts. A simple letter home, and most parents would gladly oblige.
But for Sean… if anyone could send him a letter, it would be a miracle. This meant his dream of flying directly to Ravenclaw Tower would have to remain grounded, at least until he could leave the school grounds himself.
The midday sun drenched the Quidditch pitch in an almost luxurious warmth. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue, save for a few wispy streaks like carelessly applied white paint. Sean hesitated, then posed his final question before leaving.
"Madam Hooch, if a student can't leave the school, how…"
"Oh, Mr. Green, I don't believe that will be a problem for you," Madam Hooch interrupted, handing him a clean towel to wipe away a stray drop of water from the shed roof. "Just keep practicing, Mr. Green. That requirement is the least of your worries."
With that, she mounted her own broom and soared away, leaving a thoroughly bewildered Sean standing alone.
In the corridor, a portrait knight was noisily gulping down ale, his face flushed red. He still wore his too-long sword and had grass stains on his knees. Apparently quite drunk, he began shouting at the top of his painted lungs.
"The Headmasters of Hogwarts… Oh, Violet, you must know! Phineas Nigellus Black was a wicked, foolish dunderhead! Armando Dippet, an incompetent judge of character! Dumbledore is quite excellent, of course, but a knight's honour compels me to speak the truth—he's a…"
Sean stopped, shocked by the knight's reckless outburst. Was drunk Sir Cadogan always this bold? Wizards, it seemed, possessed a peculiar strain of recklessness.
"Sir Cadogan," Sean advised dryly, "if you finish that sentence, I suspect tomorrow's sunrise might be the last you ever see."
"Ah, young Green…" The warning seemed to sober the knight slightly. His face remained red, but his voice dropped considerably. "I meant to say, Dumbledore is a Headmaster who… satisfies all wizards. Simultaneously."
"Is that truly what you meant, Sir Cadogan?" Lady Violet asked from her portrait, batting her eyelashes innocently.
Ignoring the bickering portraits, Sean discreetly moved the Drunken Friars painting back from its hiding place. The knight had offered valuable advice on flying; allowing him to meet his end due to Sean's well-intentioned gratitude felt like the punchline to a particularly bleak joke.
The castle was becoming increasingly familiar. Sean could probably navigate to the Great Hall blindfolded now, guided solely by the sweet, enticing aroma of roasted pumpkin that always drifted down the corridor before meals.
Today's main courses were pork chops and Hungarian goulash, accompanied by an unusually large variety of puddings. Sean didn't need to guess who had been experimenting with recipes.
Just as he settled down to eat, the owl post arrived.
Hundreds of owls suddenly streamed into the Great Hall, startling several students. They swooped and circled above the tables, locating their recipients and dropping letters and packages onto their laps, sparking murmurs of curiosity throughout the hall.
Though Sean never received mail, he made a habit of offering scraps to the weary messengers, often ignored by their excited owners. Several owls landed near him, and he quietly tore off pieces of toast, watching the intelligent creatures eat. After a few moments, they took flight again, heading back to the Owlery to rest.
From the staff table, a pair of bright blue eyes observed the scene behind half-moon spectacles.
"Animals often find the kindest children, don't they, Minerva?" Albus Dumbledore remarked, his voice laced with gentle humour. "Sometimes, they make better judges of character than wizards." His comment seemed directed at the owls, but perhaps not entirely.
Professor McGonagall remained silent, watching the students excitedly sharing news from home. Even a simple box of sweets could cause a flurry of excitement, like the one Seamus Finnigan was currently fending off his dorm mates from. If his friends hadn't saved him a few, he looked like he might actually cry.
Amidst the joyful chaos, the owl-surrounded wizard sat quietly, observing, seemingly detached from the surrounding noise.
After lunch, Sean headed to the hidden room to tackle a new charm: the Summoning Charm, Accio. It was one of the oldest spells in wizarding society, used for centuries. Consequently, the explanations surrounding it were convoluted and dense, seemingly layered with the interpretations of countless Charms Masters over the ages. Instead of clarifying, the accumulated knowledge often obscured, making the spell feel bewilderingly complex, much like Hermione's rambling explanation in the classroom earlier.
Sean, however, excelled at sifting through such descriptions, experimenting to find the precise, effective core of the magic. For him, at least, this approach was far more efficient.
He took out a spare quill from his bag and focused. Concentrate… visualize the object's properties…
"Accio Quill!"
The quill trembled slightly on the desk but didn't move.
"That pulling motion," a voice said from the doorway, breaking his concentration. "Your palm should be facing upwards…"
Hermione entered, arms laden with books. "…Accio Quill!" She flicked her wand, but the quill remained stubbornly stationary.
Now two figures were frowning in concentration, poring over different texts. They were still deep in study when Justin burst through the door.
"Oh, Sean! Hermione! Are you trying to summon the Sugar Quill?"